


if looks could kill

by stover



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cheerleaders, Crushes, F/F, F/M, High School Outcasts, M/M, Making Friends, Miscommunication, Nice Cheerleaders, PastelGoth!Keith, Punk!Lance, Strangers to Friends, Supportive Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-10 18:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11697309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stover/pseuds/stover
Summary: He wears dresses with combat boots and carries a floral-patterned bag. He’s also got piss-poor attitude and a mile-long dead stare for days. And Lance has no idea what this guy’s all about.





	1. LANCE

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I'll get this done.

There’s a saying Lance grew up with, one that he used to wish real hard was as real as they always said it’d be. It’s the one teachers tell people like him all the time, if “people like him” means the type that ends up crying at least once every day at school. It’s the one his mom said over and over, as a reminder that he’s _“fine, just the way you are.”_ It’s the one he grew up to hate, because he knows by now that that’s all it’s ever gonna be — words repeated endlessly, words that fill up space, words that fucking lie right to his face—

_“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me!”_

Oh, it pisses him off anytime he hears somebody saying that. It really pisses him off.

 

He never knew everyone else felt the same way.

 

* * *

 

“—always getting in trouble because other people are starting problems with him. When he first came, he was real nice and smiled a lot, but now all he does is scowl and put up with people picking fights with him for no reason. And I feel bad, man. I wanna do something, help him out a little. Lance, you with me?”

He’s not really one to hit first, but Hunk sounds real into whatever this was. Lance wonders if he’s got a bit of a crush. Probably, probably not. “Sure, buddy,” he says, picking a french fry off Pidge’s lunch tray. “Remind me who we’re talking about again?”

Hunk’s eyes are narrowed and his tone dubious. “You mean… You’ve never seen him?”

“Seen who?”

Pidge snorts. “That’s rich. He’s a guy wearing a dress. How do you miss something like that in our school?”

Lance chokes on a fry, but it’s not because of the way Hunk is staring at him. It’s because he thinks he sees a cockroach skittering on the floor of their school’s cafeteria.

He’s not wrong.

Lance stops eating the fries.

 _Burger King’s probably got a million roaches,_ he thinks.

 _This is true,_ he tells himself, reaching for another fry.

“Really?” Hunk presses, leaning a little over the table, “C’mon, Lance, he— He sticks out like a sore thumb! N-Not that— Not that there’s anything wrong with that, or—” Hunk’s brow furrows. “He’s just… out there, you know? Like, he’s years ahead, or something.”

Lance squirts ketchup from a tiny packet into one of the square grooves on the lunch tray. “Sounds like Mr. Edgy’s trying too hard.”

Hunk makes some kind of frustrated noise. “He’s not _edgy,_ he’s— He’s not edgy, Lance. He’s not.”

Lance sticks a fry into some ketchup and drops it in his mouth. “Yeah. Okay.”

He doesn’t get why Hunk looks at him like he just said he’d slap somebody’s grandma. So what if there’s a guy running around in a dress? High school was a breeding ground for weirdos. Everyone was weird in high school. Even _he_ was weird, and he didn’t get why. He didn’t dress weird. He didn’t act weird. He didn’t talk weird. But he was still That Weird Kid; _has_ been, since the third grade.

It was probably cause he still listened to alternative rock instead of whatever everyone else was milly-walking or hittin’ the quan to. Or because he got lost in school in the third grade on the way to the bathroom because he got distracted looking at the bulletin boards and forgot he had to pee and pissed his pants. Or because he didn’t read right, and when his fifth grade teacher asked him to read something out loud, he didn’t read _“they built a great, big, huge factory”_ and read _“they built a grape, big, hung, fuckery”_ instead. Or maybe it was because that one time he almost set his shirt on fire for leaning too close to the bunsen burner cause he was too busy looking to see if Pidge’s whatchamacallit was actually gonna turn blue.

Yeah, it was probably the music.

“Whatever, so maybe he’s not edgy. Explains why I haven’t see him around. Doesn’t stick out too much, I guess.”

Hunk rolls his eyes. “Or you just never go to class.”

Lance adopts a stern look. “Hey, I go to class. Just not Iverson’s.”

“You’re gonna fail,” says Pidge, scribbling in a ratty old notebook without looking up.

“I don’t care, I’ll still pass the AP test.”

“I don’t think Iverson’s as lenient as Shirogane was. He might not let you take the test.”

“Yeah? I’d like to see him try. Let’s see what he says after my mom kicks his ass.”

Pidge looks up from her notebook for the first time since they all sat down. “Lance, your mom’s gonna kick _your_ ass.” She looks at her lunch tray and narrows her eyes at him. “Did you eat my fries?”

“They were getting cold,” he defends, scooching away with a wary glance at how hard she was gripping her pencil. “And you were working on… Whatever that thing is.”

“I was saving them for later!” Pidge groans and pulls her tray away from his reach. “Ugh, you’re worse than Keith.”

Who the fuck is Keith? he wants to ask. But he doesn’t get around to saying much, because a guy suddenly plops down at Lance’s table like it’s no big deal. Which it’s not, even if people might say otherwise.

The guy’s got on a mile-long dead stare and is wearing a pinkish kind of shirt under a biker jacket. _Wow,_ Lance thinks, _Talk about a walking fashion disaster._ What the hell kind of shirt was that guy wearing—an eighties’ crewneck? He suddenly wants to ask this guy if he’s into vintage fashion, because _hel_ lo—he’s even got a fucking mullet.

It looks nice, though; not gonna lie.

He’s spent the entirety of the time the guy is here zoning out to Planet _What Are You Wearing??_ that he misses the whole point of why this guy even came here in the first place. The only clue he’s got is Hunk’s big ol’ grinning face and a calculus book that wasn’t on the table before, so Lance thinks it’s gotta do with some kind of schoolwork. Which, to be honest, was boring.

He was gonna wipe out this boring-ass nobody out of his memory when the guy stands to leave. And that’s when Lance does a double-take. Because this guy’s not wearing a pinkish kind of eighties’ crewneck under a biker jacket. That was a pinkish kind of _dress_ under a biker jacket _._ He feels his brain fizzling as this new revelation jams into his conscious and wakes him the fuck up.

This dude’s wearing a fucking _dress._ With a _biker jacket._ And—Lance ducks under the table for a hot sec—and _combat boots._

 _What the fuck,_ he thinks, openly staring at Keith because _this_ is the guy everybody’s talking about? _This_ guy?? Well, no wonder he’s got piss-poor attitude—he’s probably got fuckboy dudebros harpin’ on him 24/7.

Suddenly, Keith turns to look right at Lance. “You've been staring at me this whole time,” he says, his dead stare turning slowly into a searing glare. “You got a problem?”

He’s so caught on how nice this guy looks—thick, even brows, piercing eyes, a slender face with high cheekbones—that his brain shorts out and jumps into a heaping pile of warm, steaming shit. “You’re wearing a _dress.”_

“Fuck you.”

Lance immediately backs up. “Chill out, buddy. I wasn’t—”

“Whatever,” Keith says, and slings a hershel backpack—it’s got blue and red flowers on it—over his shoulder and walks away.

Lance watches the guy’s retreating back with a spiteful glare and ends up… staring at his legs. _Daaaamn, son,_ he thinks, _This boy’s got legs for days._ He stays on that line of thought for a moment, then wonders—

“That guy— is he in our class? Iverson’s class?”

The table is silent; even the sound of Pidge’s pencil has stopped. Hunk and Pidge fix frowns upon their faces and send him a _‘idk what you’re planning or thinking but please stop.’_

Lance ignores them, because hahaha— _it’s too late._ “Let me see that for a sec,” he says, grabbing Pidge’s notebook. He snatches it away right as he hears the sharp clack of her teeth mashing together in the air where his wrist would’ve been. She shoots him a look. “Lance, I need to finish my—”

“Thanks, Hunk,” Lance interrupts Pidge, grabbing the pen in Hunk’s shirt pocket and clicking the end. He rips out a blank page in Pidge’s notebook—

“Hey!” Pidge cries, lunging forward, “I number my pages!”

—and hops up from his seat and slides all the way down the bench. “Aight, chill. You number your pages? Then stick a sheet of paper back in. Just let me have this one.” He scribbles a star on the top of the pen to get the ink of the pen flowing just right before he starts jotting down a few words in the middle.

Pidge growls, fisting the material of her green Jansport backpack in her tiny hands and glowering.

“Lance, uh,” Hunk makes some kind of thoughtful humming noise, “How should I phrase this? Oh, right. This is a bad, _bad_ idea, and you’re probably gonna end up with your own foot in your mouth.”

“Yeah, just leave him alone!” Pidge adds, sounding a little more upset than she’d normally be. “You don’t have to go around bothering every single person in school. This isn’t middle school.”

Lance pauses in his writing to give his friends an indignant look. “Okay, first of all? _Rude._ You don’t even know what I’m about. Second of all, _you don’t even know what I’m about.”_ With that, he turns back to the note he’s got and signs it at the bottom, adding a little star before his name. Then, he clicks the pen again and tosses it to Hunk as he folds the sheet of paper in half. “Here, give this to Keith,” he says, holding the folded note to Pidge.

Pidge scowls at him but snatches the note.

Ah, Pidge, always reliable no matter— “Don’t _read_ it!” He lunges for the note.

Pidge holds up her backpack between her and Lance and stares at the note. Her brows start to crease together, and slowly, her eyes widen. Hunk leans over the table to check it out.

“This is an invasion of privacy!” Lance hisses, grabbing Pidge’s backpack away from her in an attempt to draw her attention off the note. It doesn’t work.

Because his shithead friends are too busy snickering and grinning like it’s lity city.

“Eyyy, this is a love note!” Hunk hollers, reaching over to ruffle his hair.

Lance yelps and ducks away. “Are you kidding me?! Not so loud!” He grabs an olive bomber jacket from the table and throws it over his head. _“Je_ sus, what is _wrong_ with you?!”

Pidge grins. “What, afraid people might actually think you’re not that bad a person? Please, Lance—everyone figured that one out eons ago. Just because you dress and talk punk doesn’t mean you _are_ punk.”

Lance scoffs and stutters. “I am _so_ punk!” he shouts, then recoils and checks out the rest of the cafeteria from under his jacket. Nobody’s looking their way.

Probably cause they’re all used to this.

And also because he’s _so_ punk that they’re scared. Ha.

Hunk plucks the note from Pidge’s fingers and carefully tucks it into his shirt pocket. “I’ll give it to Keith,” he says, ignoring Pidge’s petulant scowl as she crosses her arms. “I’ll make sure he knows it’s not a joke.”

“What?” Lance frowns. “Why would he think it’s a joke?”

“Really, Lance?” Pidge unfolds her arms to stick out a finger. “One, you were grilling him the whole time he was sitting here.”

“I wasn’t _grilling_ him—”

“Two, he asked if you had a problem and you gave a stupid answer.”

“I was distracted!”

“And three,” Pidge snatches the note from Hunk’s pocket and waves it open, “Do you really think Keith won’t take what you wrote the wrong way after all that?”

Lance crosses his arms and looks at his handiwork. In sharp, messy letters, he’d written:  

> _yo keith_  
>    
>  _meet me behind the school after last pd_  
>  _dont wuss out_  
>    
>  _⭐ lance_

Lance shrugs. “It looks just fine to me. I mean, what could go wrong?”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “He gets shit from people all the time. You think he’s gonna read this and go—” Pidge flips her hair, clasps her hands together and bats her eyelashes “—Oh em gee! Someone’s gonna confess to me!”

Lance and Hunk stare at her with blank faces.

Pidge scowls, folding her arms and getting red in the face. “I’m just saying,” she grits out, “that you have a shit hand at writing love notes.”

“Well, you coulda just said that, instead of doing all…” Lance waves his hand. “All of _that.”_

Pidge just yanks her backpack and notebook from Lance. “Oh, shut it.” She huffs, looping her arms through the straps of her backpack. “I’ll see ya around, or whatever,” she says before stomping away.

Lance follows her with his eyes, confusion creasing his brow and looking back and forth between Pidge’s retreating back and the now-abandoned lunch tray she’s been so hellbent on keeping away from him. Finally, he looks at Hunk. “What’d I do? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Hunk shrugs and says, “I ‘unno.”

Lance balks at that, then shrugs his shoulders as well. “Oh well, her loss. And I’m taking her fries.” He grabs a handful of the fries, now cold, and shovels them into his mouth. “Girls are fucking weird, Hunk. She was just fine, wasn’t she? Now she’s all moody and whatever. Watch, I bet she’s gonna ignore me for the rest of the day.”

Suddenly, Lance freezes, because oh my god, _ohmygod_ — “She’s gonna ignore me for the rest of the day!” he all but screams, lunging across the table and grabbing Hunk by the front of his shirt. “She can’t do that, Hunk! I’m freaking the fuck out!”

Hunk, too, freaks the fuck out. “What, what?!”

“She still has the note! I’ll never get it back! What if she does something petty and gives it to Keith? What if her shitty attitudes makes him take it the wrong way like she said?! What if—” Lance makes a gasping wheeze “—What if she sticks it up in the hallway? My name’s on that shit!”

Hunk starts gathering his things. “U-Uh, maybe we can catch her before she—”

Lance slams a fist on the table, eyes lighting up. “I got it! I’m gonna catch her before she gets to him!” He lets go of Hunk and nearly rips the arm off his olive bomber jacket as he frantically shoves his left fist through the arm hole. “Wish me luck!” he shouts as he runs off.

Then he abruptly stops, turns around, and runs back.

“Forgot this,” he says, grabbing his bag, “And I’m taking the rest of the fries, too,” he says, grabbing whatever was left so fast, the lunch tray falls to the floor. But he’s got no time to pick up that shit — He’s got a fucking life to save.

_His._


	2. LOTOR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sick of this shit. I just want it to stop.”

> _yo keith_
> 
> _meet me behind the school after last pd  
>  _ _dont wuss out_
> 
> _⭐ lance_

The corners of Lotor’s lips curl tight as he keeps from laughing. “Is he—” Lotor snorts trying to hold in his laughter, “Is he calling you out?” Once the words are in the air, he can’t help but laugh out loud because the very notion of Lance McClain starting a fight with anyone is ridiculous. “With a hand-written note?”

Keith throws his bag down on the chair and says nothing.

Lotor can’t stop laughing. “I can’t believe even the school’s most desperate wannabe wants to pick on you.”

Keith leans over his desk, folding his arms on top, and dumps his face in his arms.

Lotor remains in high spirits. “At least this one’s not worth worrying over. Nobody likes him because he’s delusional and can’t keep his mouth shut. If you ask me, he’s long overdue for a beating.”

“I don’t care,” says Keith.

Lotor’s laughing dwindles to a snicker. “Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he says, his smile curling mockingly on his lips. “Would you like me to knock him out? It’ll cost you, though. You know I don’t do things for free.”

Keith says nothing. He doesn’t move.

It is oddly strange to see someone who’s pummeled six jocks over the past four days look so defeated. Lotor doesn’t know if he should extend his condolences for whatever pitiful mindset Keith has thrown himself into, or to say a few words of sympathy.

Finally, Keith speaks. His voice is as soft as a fading whisper.

“I’m sick of this shit. I just want it to stop.”

Lotor says nothing. Instead, he observes.

Keith has his face in his arms, his hair wild and tangled unlike the stylized mess of fine, thick strands combed and well conditioned. There’s a missing stitch on the seam on the collar of his jacket, a fraying thread poking out along the seam. A faded scratch drags a diagonal line from the missing stitch down to the middle of his back, as if something had dragged down from the seam of the collar.

The seam isn’t supposed to be seen like this on this jacket; the lapels fold over to hide it away. But Keith has unfurled the collar and let it stand straight around his neck. It looks horrible; a distasteful choice eliciting a false sense of delinquency and obstinance.

With a sneer, Lotor hooks a finger over the collar and pulls it down.

Keith’s hand is an iron clamp around his wrist. His eyes burn murder into Lotor’s face. Lotor finds amusement in Keith’s fury until he finds something else: a thin, red line trying to fade away from existence runs along the side of Keith’s neck.

Something hot sears through Lotor's thoughts. It lasts for only a second before it is banished away with a smile. “Who did that to you?”

“Nobody,” comes the hissing reply. “Don’t touch me.” Keith all but throws Lotor’s wrist back at him.

Lotor is still smiling when the door to the classroom slams open. A few kids snap to attention; even Keith stops slouching over his seat. In seconds, papers start to fly up and down the rows of chairs in the classroom.

“Get in your homework, pass these down, and get started. Don’t make the same mistake the class idiot’s doing and flunk out. You do what I tell you to do and you’ll pass that damn— Lotor! You wanna waste your time smiling at the board, then do it somewhere else! Get your head back in class!”

“My apologies, Mr. Iverson.” Lotor glances to Keith and his smile widens. “It won’t happen again.”


	3. ALLURA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “With how many shitty handjobs you give all the time, I’ll be surprised if you even have enough strength to make a fist.”

Allura, breathing hard and cheeks flushed, looks up at Keith. “Well? What do you think?”

Keith looks up from his phone. “Good.”

Allura sucks her teeth and growls. All around her, girls in blue, silver, and white uniforms collapse to the ground with grunts and heavy sighs. She ignores them to harp on Keith, frustrated. “Is that the only word you know? Do you know how long it took us to come up with that routine? We spent months on it!”

“Cool.”

Allura makes an aggravated noise. “Why do I even bother,” she grumbles. She pivots on her heels, filled with every intention to dive right back into practice, when she comes face to face with a collection of girls slumped on the floor. Her perplexed expression turns stern. “Get up, all of you!” she shouts, walking a path through the girls and shaking her pompoms in their sweaty, flushed faces. “Get up! Who told you to take a break? At this rate, we won’t even make it to regionals!”

“At this rate, I might not even make it home,” whines a girl with bright, electric-blue hair in low pigtails, “I can’t even feel my legs.”

“I’m with Plaxum.” One girl, a blonde with purple eyeshadow and a high ponytail, flops onto the floor on her back. “Can’t we take five? You’ve been making us jump through hoops for forever and a day. And _then_ some.”

“Yeah,” says a brunette with large hips and broad shoulders, “That’s why Keith’s just over there on his phone. He’s bored of seeing this routine over and over. Right, Keith?”

“Uh-huh.”

Allura places her hands at her waist. “He’s not bored of the routine, he’s bored of _us!_ We’re obviously not putting in our all. So get up! We have to get this right.”

“Half the team’s not even here!” Nyma snaps. “Lotor’s busy sucking up to Iverson, Pidge is MIA, and Rolo had to ditch. And the rest of the girls on the team all got sick from when Plaxum had the flu.”

Plaxum coughs, the sound still phlegmy. “Sorry.”

Allura sighs, then. “Fine. Take five. But _only_ five!”

The girls on the team heave a collective sigh of relief.

All of a sudden, Keith stands up. “Alright, see ya.”

Allura whirls around in surprise; the other girls have matching expressions. “What? _Now?_ But it’s only been an hour! You said you were going to see us through!”

The door to the gym shuts with a hollow thud.

“Oh, quiznak,” Allura swears, her right foot tapping an angry, rapid beat on the floor. “How are we supposed to know whether we’re staying symmetrical now?” After a second of stewing in silence, Allura throws her pompoms on the ground. “I’m getting him back,” she growls.

One of the blue pompoms hits the back of her head.

Allura turns and throws it back in the direction she thinks it came from, which means it hits Nyma square in the face.

“Noooo!” Nyma wails dramatically. She lifts a weak, shaky arm in the air. “Don’t wait for me,” she wheezes, “Go on with practice without me.” Her arm flops on the floor.

The other girls snicker.

Allura kicks the other pompom across the floor. “None of you are taking this seriously!” she shouts angrily, practically baring her teeth at them. “Keith wouldn’t have up and left if we didn’t spend thirty minutes choosing what color mats to put down.”

“Turn down your princess dial and chill,” another girl says, her hoarse voice echoing in the near-empty gym. She zips up a purple sweater and flips the hood on her head. “He was arguing right along with us. Probably was the most fun he had while he was here, too.”

Shay starfishes on the floor on her back, fanning her sweaty face with her hand. “Yeah, that’s how we ended up with red mats instead of our usual blue.”

“Ugh.” Nyma wrinkles her nose and furrows her brow. “Don’t remind me. I hate red.”

“Besides,” the girl with the hoodie continues, “He’s probably got other things to do than watch a bunch of sweaty girls doing somersaults and flips.”

Allura gives the girl a skeptical look. “Like _what,_ Nerva?”

“It’s _Haggar,”_ The girl with the hoodie scowls darkly. “You don’t get to call me anything else.” She combs through her tangled, silver hair with her thin fingers. “And Keith said something about having to beat up some ignorant kid.”

Allura’s jaw drops. “What?!”

Nyma suddenly sits right up. “Ooooh, yeah. That weird guy, right? Lance, was it?”

Plaxum giggles and rolls on her side with a silly grin. “I think he’s cute.”

“Oh my god, you _would,”_ Shay laughs.

“He’s got such a ‘Nice Guy’ kind of thing going on— but like, in the good way,” Plaxum says with a smile.

Nyma snorts. “There’s no such thing as a good ‘Nice Guy.’ Plus, he’s _such_ a dork.”

Plaxum gasps. “No, he’s not!”

“So…” Allura’s brow furrows. “He’s fighting Lance? Who’s Lance?”

“Oh, _you_ know,” Shay says, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Hunk’s best friend. The one who always tells those funny jokes?”

Allura frowns. “Why on earth would Keith want to fight Lance?”

“Noooo, you got it all wrong,” Nyma says, an ear to ear grin stretching across her face. Her eyes glint with excitement. _“I_ heard Lance called him out. Rolo said Lotor saw it all. He was right next to Keith when Pidge gave him the note from Lance. It said to meet him behind the school at the end of the day, or _else.”_

A bell sounds through the PA system, a long, monotonous tone echoing in the empty gym.

The girls on the floor look at each other. Then, they stand up.

“Well, I have a test tomorrow—”

“Yeah, and I have a date soon—”

“I want a hot bath—”

“I’m going home.”

“Everybody _freeze!”_

Allura’s shouting startles them all. The girls stop in the middle of helping each other up and grabbing their stuff to stare at their captain.

Allura was livid. “Are you telling me that every single one of you knew about this and you’re just— You’re all just gonna go home?!”

The girls exchanged looks. Then, Haggar answers.

“Well, what do you want us to do about it? Tell a teacher?”

“Um, yes?!”

Nyma gasps. “Oh darn,” she says,”You’re _sooo_ right. Come on, guys, let’s all go tell a teacher that Lance is trying to fight Keith at the back of the school. Oh wait, _we can’t,_ because all of our teachers are illiberal dickfucks who crawled out of Reagan’s ass right along with those good ol’ values of conservative America.”

Allura fists her hands at her sides, but says nothing. “There has to be _someone_ we can tell. Everyone’s got at _least_ one staff member they can trust,” she insists.

At this, the girls all look at one another in hesitant silence.

Shay breaks it first. “What about Mr. Ryner?” Her suggestion is offered carefully. “He’s always listening to kids on his lunch break. Katie can’t stop talking about how great a teacher he is, and he’s Matt’s favorite teacher, too.”

Allura frowns. “He’s probably gone by now,” she says, “He only teaches advanced classes. And those all end by two… What about Coran? We can bring him up to speed about this.”

“You mean, Mr. Smythe?” Plaxum asks. “The guidance counselor?”

“He’s not in today,” Nyma says. “That’s why Rolo’s not here, either. He’s not feeling too hot right now.”

Plaxum raises her hand as if they’re in class. “Ooh! How about Ms. Luxia? _Everyone_ loves her.”

“She took her class out on a field trip,” says Shay. “By the time she gets back, it’ll be too late.”

The girls look sullenly amongst themselves, rattling their heads desperately for someone they can trust.

“Well,” Nyma suddenly says, “What about us? Lance doesn’t hit first, and he’s mostly all talk anyway. And I don’t think Keith will do anything if we all tackle him to the ground, first.”

“I mean, I guess if we all work together to pull them apart ourselves, it’ll work,” Plaxum says.

Haggar snorts. “And get suspended? No thanks.”

Shay bites her lip. _“I’d_ do it,” she says quietly, “Even if that means I get suspended.”

Haggar rolls her eyes. “Of course _you_ would.”

“If half the cheer squad is putting a stop to a fight,” Allura points out, “I don’t think the school would suspend us.”

“Zarkon doesn’t give a shit about the cheerleading squad,” Haggar says, “Not since Lotor quit football to join us.”

“You don’t have to be such a cynical bitch all the time,” Nyma snaps.

“It’s called being practical. Not everyone is as eager as you are to jump on anything with a dick.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

Allura slaps a hand to her forehead. Plaxum gasps and Shay nervously looks between the two girls.

“Oooh, I’m gonna wring your skinny little neck—”

“With how many shitty handjobs you give all the time, I’ll be surprised if you even have enough strength to make a fist.”

With a scream, Nyma lunges forward as Haggar stands her ground. But neither of the girls get close enough because Shay wraps her powerful arms around Nyma’s shoulders and uses their combined weight to tip backwards onto the mats. Nyma struggles against her to no avail.

“Let me go, Shay! I’ll gonna _kill_ her!”

“That’s enough!” Allura shouts, stepping between them. Behind her, Plaxum stands beside Haggar and looks like she has no idea what exactly to do; but she stands next to her teammate regardless. “Are you out of your minds? We don’t have time for this!” she cries belligerently, “If we don’t do something before it’s too late, our _friends_ are gonna be suspended!”

A strong voice booms suddenly in the empty gym. “Nobody’s getting suspended.”

It startles everyone. Plaxum squeaks as Nyma freezes in place, no longer fighting to break free. Shay’s face pales considerably and even Haggar looks remotely expressive. Allura is quite surprised to see who it is that has come in.

It’s the new science teacher, Takashi Shirogane. Allura is surprised at how young he is; from the way Coran spoke of him, she thought he’d be older.

“If we find Keith before anyone else does,” says the new teacher, closing the door to the gym behind him, “I can deal with it. No one else has to know.”

The girls look amongst themselves, Shay and Nyma now sitting on the mats beside the others. For the most part, they look willing to trust him.

Nyma, however, isn’t. She scowls openly, crossing her arms. “Keith’s a nuclear reactor with authority issues. He’s not gonna listen to you.”

“He will,” is the earnest response. His face is stern, his gaze focused on the small group of girls at the center of the gym. “He trusts me. That’s why I know he’ll listen.”

There’s a terse silence amongst the girls as they look at each other. Then they look at the new teacher. Then, Allura hears her team talking all at once.

“Who’re you again?” “Do you work here?” “Keith’s _never_ mentioned you before.” “Are you Keith’s dad?” “I’m going home.”

The new teacher looks quite taken aback, eyebrows shooting high on his face.

Allura slaps a hand to her face, turning back to her team. “This is the new science teacher! We’re four months into the school year, how do you not know him?! And Honerva—”

“Haggar.”

“ _—_ _where_ are you going??”

“Home. Bye.”

Rather than try to drag her back to the team, Allura lets the other girl leave. There’s no point in trying; she knows it’s useless to argue with her.

The other girls don’t seem to care about Haggar taking leave at all. Instead, they flock around the new teacher, dragging him by his arms.

“C’mon, _this_ way!”

“Shay, you’re gonna take his arm off!”

“Hey, how’d you get your scar?”

“Uh—” The new teacher looks at a loss, swarmed completely by the rapid-fire interrogation from the remaining members of Lyon High’s cheerleading team. He glances briefly at Allura with a face drowning in concern that makes her stifle a laugh.

“Allura!” Nyma shouts over her shoulder, “Don’t just stand there, let’s go!”

Allura doesn’t need to be told twice.


	4. KEITH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” he hears. “We’ll make sure you do. You won’t forget this. We’ll make you regret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **trigger warning for attempted sexual harassment**

For what it’s worth, he’s done all he can to prevent this from getting out of hand.

This is what Keith tells himself as he stand waiting at the back of the school, leaning against the dusty brick wall next to the exit of the band’s storage room behind the gym. He’s been standing here for a while, waiting for some idiot called Lance to finally come out.

Keith’s not stupid; he knows fighting means automatic in-house suspension — of which, he’s already chalked up three days since he got here a few weeks ago. And he knows how stupid these fights are in the first place. “Just walk away,” Shiro’s said countless times before, “It’s not worth it.”

Isn’t it, though? Isn’t it worth it? The nasty comments have dwindled down a lot since he knocked out the school’s biggest jock. Sendak was a big guy with a stocky build. Looked like he pumped juice every day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Keith had almost broken his arm in two places taking him down, but he didn’t and it was damn fucking worth it. Now the entire football team settles for shooting nasty looks instead of trying to pull nasty shit on him. Now, he can finally get some peace.

Once he gets rid of this weirdo, of course.

He’s done some digging on Lance. Rolo thinks he’s on something for most of the day, Nyma says he’s just a loser who wants attention, Zeth says he’s a loud wannabe punk, and Acxa doesn’t even know who the kid is. Lotor’s the only one who gave him decent information: a kid with two friends, ADHD, low self-esteem, and a big mouth, but the brains of a genius and the tenacity of a pitbull.

So, Keith thinks, not anybody important.

He doesn’t get why this nobody suddenly popped up to get on his case. They’ve never exchanged a word, never acknowledged each other, and up until four hours ago, they never knew the other existed. So why now? What’s this guy’s point? Was Keith some kind of social ladder to step on? Was this guy trying to use him to get up onto the higher ranks of popularity?

Keith laughs at that, ‘cause it’s kind of sad. If that’s what this guy was trying to pull, it was really, really sad. Because, according to what he’s found out from other people, there were a hell of a lot of rungs on that ladder this guy needed to step up to get up to where he wants to go.

He laughs, but he also kind of… gets it. It’d be a lie if he said he didn’t, or if he said he didn’t understand this guy at all. He knows what it’s like to feel the weight of the entire school stepping on you. It’s how he feels now, sort of. So, in a way, he kind of gets it. Not enough to let the kid slide, but. He gets it.

Finally, he hears something. A rough set of footsteps that rush into his head. It makes him jolt to attention, because one — a single guy walking over here shouldn’t sound like a stampede. Two — a wannabe punk reject should in no way be anywhere near anyone that sounds like Zeth’s ex-boyfriend. And three — this was a fucking trap, god _damn!_

“A little bird told me you’d be here,” Sendak growls once he’s rounded the corner. There were three other guys behind him, all jacked up and looked ready to go. “I’ve been waiting to grind you to dust.”

Keith’s ducking down low the moment Sendak’s fist flashed forward. It hits the wall with a sickening sound that makes Sendak roar. Before Keith can get away, a knee slams into his face and he feels his nose crack with a whipping explosion of white hot pain. For the next minute, he hears nothing but his own screaming and the sound of someone shouting and cursing. His hands hurt. He can’t feel his face. And he’s no longer against the brick wall.

Sendak’s own face is bloody, mouth stained red. Keith’s hunched over it, his breathing hot and ragged, he sees Sendak’s face snapping from side to side. Keith feels his hands turning numb, sees the way blood pours from Sendak’s nose and mouth.

Keith knows what’s happening. He knows what he’s doing. But he can’t seem to stop.

It doesn’t matter, because suddenly, somebody kicks him hard and nearly rips his arm out of its socket as he goes down. Someone’s pinned his arm behind him and thrown him face-first into the ground. In the back of his head, the cost of the dress he’s wearing puts on a mocking dance of numbers to the sound of Shiro’s firm voice— _“It’s not worth it.”_ He doesn’t know why, but he suddenly wants to cry.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with,” he hears Haxus hissing into his ear. Something heavy stomps onto his back, forcing him to throw out the air in his lungs along with a mouthful of something hot and wet and sticky. “We’ll make sure you do. You won’t forget this. We’ll make you regret.”

There’s another stomp to his back and a kick to his side. His other arm gets twisted painfully back, forcing him to shout. Then, a hand bunches the bottom of his dress. He freezes.

Fear turns him into an angry, wild beast. “DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

 _“Ow, fuck!” “Hold his legs!” “Sit on him!” “He’s too loud_ — _shove some dirt or something in his mouth_ — _”_

“HEY!”

The entire world grinds to a halt.

The stranger suddenly begins to prattle off. “What’s up everybody, it’s ya favorite boy here with another vlog, featuring the world’s greatest parkour attempts! I’m here at the back of Lyon High about to play Extreme Leapfrog with the world’s ugliest shitheads— …Oh, shit.”

A whirlwind of chaos descends.

_“Get him!’ “Someone grab his phone!”_

He hears someone screaming _(shit, that sounds_ — _)_ , an abrupt high-pitched shriek that lights every nerve in his body forces him up from the ground, his chest burning, his back crying against every movement he makes. There’s so much pain he feels and doesn’t feel, an ice-cold numbness that sends every nerve tingling on and off, his brain screeching at him STOP MOVING DON’T MOVE IT HURTS STOP STOP STOP while his thoughts wind tight around his brain to demand, _why is he here, what’s he doing here, what are they doing to him??_

“Holy shit!” he hears and he wants to turn, he wants to move, he wants to see— god, please let him be okay, he shouldn’t even be here—

“Boy, talk about a close call. You could’ve knocked my head off with that swing! Pidge, ya getting all this? Oh, hey— you think this counts as parkour?”

_“Shit, it’s a livestream!” “Leave the kid!” “Run!”_

The ground quakes beneath stampeding jocks fleeing from the scene. His hands still feel numb and he still can’t breathe right and he can’t feel his face and his back feels like there stone weights knifing into his flesh each time he moves, but he remembers — he remembers very well — the terror he’s felt for half a second when the three of them had him on the ground and anger is the only thing he feels as he sees Haxus’s feet rushing past him in a frenzied sprint.

One minute he’s dripping blood on the ground and in the next, he’s got Haxus’s ankle in an iron grip around his hands and he squeezes hard and tight, his thumb finding that soft line that runs down the back of a foot and pressing relentlessly into that—

Haxus screams as he falls, the world shaking as the tall, lean jock meets the ground. “Fuck! Let go of me!” Haxus snarls, his other foot kicking out at Keith’s face.

It never reaches him.

In that moment, the heavy door to the band’s storage room slams open, and a booming voice tears through the wild scene.

“Get on your feet! All of you!”

Iverson’s voice cracks through them like lightening. The jocks scramble into a line, standing three in a row in a uniform stance. Someone with calloused hands and a gentle touch is peeling his hair back. It reminds him of Shiro, and thoughts of Shiro makes him think about home, about his dad, and the look he was given before he was told to leave to go live somewhere else. Suddenly, he wants to cry.

“Keith?” says a voice that isn’t Shiro. Any tears he might have wanted to spill dry with the shock of realizing that this isn’t Shiro, this isn’t even Lotor or Allura or Zeth or Acxa — This is Lance.

The world is bright when he sees Lance. He feels a steady hand at the back of his neck, warm and secure, feels a soft touch on his shoulder as he’s given a gentle tilt back, setting him on his side. He sees the sky, piercing blue and grey into his eyes; and then, with a start, he realizes he’s not looking at the sky at all. He’s looking into Lance’s eyes.

Lance looks scrawnier up close than what Keith remembers.

He watches panic fill up Lance’s face. “Shit, man, you— I think your nose is broken. Are you— Can you even hear me?”

He wants to tell Lance that there’s absolutely no correlation between a broken nose and his own ability to hear when he suddenly feels another pair of hands on him. They’re light and quick, running over his arm and his chest and his face— _FUCKFUCKFUCK SHIT THAT FUCKING HURTS—_

“You’re hurting him!” Lance hisses.

“Quite the observant one, aren’t you?” speaks a voice that slithers into his ears.

It’s Lotor.

Lotor’s piercing eyes drill into him as he looms overhead. “Your nose is broken. So are your knuckles, I believe.” As if to prove the statement, Lotor roughly pats the back of his hand.

Keith wretches his hand away, and ends up moving his shoulder too much for his body’s own liking. Some kind of keening sound whines in his ears.

“Stop it!” Lance’s voice is a thundering echo in his head. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Keith feels a hand curl around his wrist. He knows its Lotor. “Your breath,” he tells Lance as he slowly helps Keith into a sitting position. “Reconsider your most unwelcome breach of personal space. Go sit over there and try a mint. Go on, shoo.”

“You stale-faced, motherfucking pissant—”

“McClain!” Iverson barks, “You wanna get up and say that again? You’re already in it for starting this fight—”

“For starting the— What?! I didn’t start anything!”

Something crinkles and gets shoved in front of Lance’s face. It’s a piece of paper, folded over enough times to leave deep creases in the sheet. He can’t see what’s on it that makes Lance suddenly look spooked, but even Keith’s not that far gone to not recognize what it is.

“That wasn’t me!” Lance shouts in earnest. “Well, I mean, I wrote it, yeah, but I— I-I wasn’t gonna _fight_ him!”

The paper disappears. “You didn’t fight him,” Iverson agrees, then snorts derisively. “You sent a bunch of idiots to do it for you.”

The three jocks standing a few feet away look amongst themselves.

“I didn’t—!”

Keith watches Lotor smile politely, which was about as pleasant as watching Donald Trump hold a baby and insist that it adored him. “Sir,” Lotor interjects politely, “I’m certain you don’t mean to say that the gentlemen standing there would have willingly offered this one some assistance—”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Inverson interrupts, “It was good of you to report this, but it’s another thing entirely if you start to question me. Watch yourself, or you’ll be joining the others in a cozy suspension room.”

Lotor’s smile doesn’t waver once, but Keith knows when Lotor is angry. And right now, he’s furious. If he weren’t feeling like someone had crushed him under a ton of bricks and hit by a truck, he would’ve laughed. Lance would’ve laughed too. Except, he’s furious too.

“Joining the others—” Lance’s shout chokes off with bewilderment. “I-I’m _suspended?_ For what?!”

Keith forces himself to speak. “He’s not—” Pain seizes his chest and makes him freeze. He fights against it. “He tried to help me—”

“I don’t know where you came from,” Iverson sneers down at him, making his blood boil, “But Lyon High School receives merits from the Chancellor every year on upholding the district’s discipline code to the letter. That’s the only reason we’ve been awarded with recognition everywhere from the district office to the city’s—”

Lance explodes. “Nobody cares about how great you old fucks think this school is! Every student that’s ever been here thinks this school is shit, so what the hell does that say about it now?”

Iverson steels a fierce look at Lance. He speaks not a word and instead, pulls out a pad of post-it notes from his pants pocket and a pen from behind his ear. As Iverson clicks the pen and put it to the first page, a scramble of girls burst into the back of the school from the storage room exit.

“Wait, stop!” “Ugh, don’t push me!” “Sorry—” “Ohmygod, Keith—” “Oh, shit—”

It’s a handful of girls from the cheerleading squad.

Their arrival brings everything to an abrupt halt. Even Iverson glances behind his shoulder for a split second in the middle of him writing… whatever he was writing. The presence of the cheerleading team starts to bring discomfort to the football jocks behind Iverson; one of them — Prorok — actually ducks their head down upon seeing them. Keith fights the urge to do the same. Though, for him it’s not the girls who make him feel that way. It’s someone else.

_Shiro._

He watches the look of concern on Shiro’s face transform quickly into horror, and then guilt and regret. _No,_ he wants to tell him, _It’s not your fault; it’s never your fault. Please don’t blame yourself; it’s— it’s not worth it._

One of the girls, Shay, quickly snaps back to action. “I’m getting the nurse!” she announces, and quickly runs back into the storage room to get back into the school. The other girls quickly resume action; two of them start snapping viciously at the jocks while the other stands anxiosly beside Shiro, twirling a strand of her brightly colored hair while looking anxiously at everyone around her.

Shiro seems to be feeding off her energy. The crease in Shiro’s brow deepens as he looks from Keith and Lotor to Lance and Iverson, and then to the two linebackers standing on either side of Lyon High School’s glorified bully-turned-quarterback. Finally, he turns back to the group around Keith and settles his gaze on Lance, eyes narrowing sharply. “What did you do?”

At the accusation, Lance’s face erupts in a wronged stupor. “Me?! You— Oh my god, you think I was— I didn’t do _anything!_ I _helped_ him!”

Plaxum pulls on Shiro’s sleeve. “Mister, I don’t think Lance really did anything—”

“Yeah,” Nyma agrees, “He’s petty, but he’s still a good guy deep down.”

“Fighting on school premises,” Iverson clicks his pen and resumes speaking as if they didn’t just gather a new audience, “Regardless of the situation, is grounds for suspension.” He rips off the top note and folds it in half, and then once more. “Ladies. Resume your practice. Further involvement in this situation is unnecessary.”

“Not if you’re suspending someone who’s only fault was to help,” Allura disagrees. Her voice is firm and soft, rippling into Keith’s ears. Out of everyone here, Allura is probably the only one who’s never been on Iverson’s hit-list. Keith still can’t figure out why that is.

“Fighting is the least of his worries, I assure you.” Iverson turns back to Lance with a deep scowl. “Lance knows there’s plenty to his name. Cutting class, cursing at peers, trespassing on school property—”

Lance bares his teeth. “Oh, now you’re just reaching into your ass—”

“—and recording other students with the use of technology that the school has banned—”

“He was helping!” Keith blurts out. “You can’t suspend someone for defending someone else!”

His outburst springboards everyone else to join in.

“That’s not fair!” “He didn’t do anything wrong!” “You can’t blame all that on him!”

“On the contrary,” Iverson states, firm in his own belief. “He should have alerted someone. Senior council, a staff member, a goddamn lunchroom aid—”

The blind inefficiency in this man’s understanding of the social context behind what he was saying incites him, because he know why Lance didn’t go to a teacher; he knows why Lance took it upon himself to think of an outlandish way to get involved. “He was livestreaming,” Keith shouts his throat hoarse, “To get attention! Because nobody here listens to him!”

It gets real awkward real fast. He’s not exactly certain to what degree of truth he’s hit on with what he’s just said, but he can tell from the shifting gazes and uneasy looks flitting through the group that there’s some weight to it. Everyone goes mute for a few seconds, staring at everyone and everything but at Lance.

And Lance looks only at ground, feigning disinterest.

It doesn’t fool Keith.

Iverson’s only response is a resounding threat. “Watch yourself. Or I will include your insubordination with Principal Galvagna.”

Keith is well versed with this kind of threat; it makes his skin crawl, sets his heart afire with the need to get up and clock this fucking shitstain excuse of a teacher in the face. But he clenches his fists and stays put because he can’t do that here, he can’t do that anywhere, he can’t lose the one place he’s finally called home; he just can’t. So he lets Lotor squeeze his wrist — one part restraining, one part anger — and forces himself to keep his mouth shut by clenching his teeth hard enough to send flashes of numbing pain shooting through his face, every wave pooling at his nose and making his head blank out with each and every one that takes over him.

His back burns suddenly; a hand presses slightly against it, and someone talks to him, “C’mon,” he hears, “Hang in there.”

Fuck off his back, he wants to say, because Lotor is pressing into a painful spot on his back. But he can’t seem to talk anymore. His mouth clenches shut but everything _hurts hurtshurts, goddamn—_

“This isn’t a military academy,” he hears Lance sneering, “This is a public school. You don’t talk to kids like they’re cadets, especially if you don’t want to give the ‘public’ a reason to really start pissing on you. My mom sure as hell would love to kick your ass, _sir.”_

Iverson remains unaffected. “Speaking of your mother,” Iverson turns back to Lance and presents the folded post-it in front of his face. “Here. Give this to her.”

A piece of papers crinkles. It’s silent. Then, “What the fuck is this?”

“You’re dismissed,” Iverson barks, “You’re all dismissed. Except you three,” Iverson’s voice starts to fade, “You’re coming with me to Galvagna’s office—”

Keith feels movement ahead of him; hears Lance’s snarling repeat of, “What the _fuck_ is _this?!”_ and feels his anger.

He wants to know what it is. He wants to know what’s in the note.

He doesn’t find out, because at that moment, he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Pidge isn't the "little bird" Sendak was referring to. Sendak was just spouting shit.


	5. SHIRO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is, Shiro thinks, a very interesting child.

Very little ever escapes him; the slightest of looks always caught, the smallest of voices always heard. He’s perceptive, and highly astute; but makes himself seem completely unaware with just a bright-eyed, smiling facade and an off-hand comment that can either turn flippant or flirty.

Lance is, Shiro thinks, a very interesting child.

More interesting is the way he marches down the hall of the eastern wing of Lyon High, victorious and jubilant, looking very much like a lion who’s already made its kill.

Shiro can’t remember the last time Lance ever looked so confident. That’s because he’s never looked so confident. At least, not outright.

Someone rushes down the hallway, almost toppling over a poor kid in jean overalls and a faded Lord of the Rings shirt. He’s a large man; Shiro recognizes him as one of the kids who tried out for football, got in, scored a few touchdowns, made some friends, scored a girlfriend, and then abruptly dropped the team. 

At least, he can’t help but laugh as he thinks, he’d dropped after the season ended.

“Lance!” the student cries, his voice a reverberating echo in the hallway, “Dude, you got pulled for two periods straight! What happened?!”

“You okay? Are you— Did you get suspended?” another voice worries. He recognizes it; it’s Katie Holt.

“Uh, it’s— My mom talked to the Principal. It’s— I don’t know yet. She’s still talking to him.”

“Good morning!” One of his students cuts into his eavesdropping with a bright cheery smile. 

Shiro turns away from Lance and ends up face-to-face with Allura Lyon. He gives her a kind smile. “How did your practice go?”

“Terrible,” Allura scowls. “But I guess it couldn’t be helped. Not after yesterday’s events.” She smiles brightly again before continuing, “You know, I was too busy speaking with my father about the incident yesterday and it completely slipped my mind that I had your class today—”

“You didn’t finish your assignment.”

Allura stays smiling and blinks her large eyes without an answer.

Shiro frowns. “You know the policy—”

Allura quickly swoops in to defend herself. “But I’ve never handed anything late before, and my marks are always perfect. I was so concerned about my peers yesterday that I hardly slept a wink. Surely you understand. Don’t you?”

Shiro stares unblinkingly at her doe-eyed expression. This isn’t the first time she’s tried to charm him; he was told to watch out for the chancellor’s daughter since he began working here six months ago. A smart one, he was told; she’ll play you like a harp and leave behind your own fingerprints. 

He doesn’t think he’s being played now, though. He doesn’t think she’s ever tried to play him like that.

“You have one day—”

“Oh, thank you!”

“—And _ only _ one day.”

Allura’s smile, this time, is genuine. It’s a nice smile; reminds him of his mother’s. The smile slips when two girls suddenly arrive to carve a path between them.

“Oops,” chirps a giggling girl with a high ponytail and ginger hair, “Sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Don’t be rude, Acxa.”

“You’re the one who pushed.”

Allura is at their heels immediately. “Hello, ladies,” Shiro hears her saying, “Now that you’re well, let’s talk about making up for lost time. Regionals are coming up very soon.”

“Ohhh, but we just got here!” “This is why nobody responds to your texts.”

Their voices fades as they sink deep into his classroom. Soon, Shiro can pick out Katie’s voice among the others in the hall.

“It’s all my fault,” she bemoans, “I shouldn’t have thrown the note at him, no matter how mad I was. I’m sorry, I— I’m sorry—”

“Hey, Pidge, chill for a sec. It’s alright. It’s cool. It’s— It’s not your fault. Even if you’d told him what it was, I don’t think it would’ve stopped the fight, y’know? It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah, Shay told me Sendak found out from talking to Honerva.”

“Yuck, that creepy chick? Wow, bad juju lady really  _ is _ full of bad juju. Man, and I thought she was sort of, remotely okay with me.”

“I guess not, bro.”

“Oh well, her loss. Whatever. She’s not even cute anyway.”

“Uh,  _ I _ think she’s cute.”

“Pidge, you think everyone’s cute. You think Klaizap is cute.”

“And you don't?!”

“No?? He’s a smol, I’m aged.”

“Yeah, but you can still say he’s cute. Even  _ I  _ think he’s cute.”

“Uh, really, Hunk? Wait… Cute as in  _ ‘cute’  _ cute, or cute as in  _ ’adorable’  _ cute?”

“Well—”

Someone clears their throat. It’s an unpleasant sound, sharp and loud and demanding attention. Shiro turns as soon as he finishes offering a pair of friends a smile as they enter his classroom. He isn’t surprised to see Iverson standing at his door and eyeing the trio with displeasure.

“Lance,” he says, nodding in acknowledgement.

Shiro watches Lance glance briefly at his friends before pulling on the straps of his backpack and walking towards Iverson. He stops right in front of him and looks at Iverson square in the eye. “Good morning, sir.”

The cordial greeting is unnerving; this isn’t the kind of attitude Shiro expects to see from Lance today. Neither did his friends, or even Iverson, because they all drill holes into Lance’s face with their eyes.

A student chimes a nervous hello. Both Iverson and Lance step aside to let the girl scamper through. Neither of them break eye contact.

Anxiety grumbles and churns in his stomach, clenching his heart and giving it a cold squeeze. Shiro maintains the smile on his face and continues to greet his own students as they pass on by. 

Iverson finally speaks again, grumbling, “Did your mother read the note?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Iversion arches an eyebrow. “And?”

Lance’s brow furrows deeply, his eyes turning sharp. Then, for some reason, he looked over his shoulder at Hunk and Pidge and whispers something that makes the looks on their face morph completely in confusion.

“Well,” Lance starts, turning back to Iverson. “She said, uh...” He hesitates again, before chewing on his bottom lip.

And then, the gates of hell are pried open.

“My mom told me to tell you… to mind your  _ damn _ mOTHERFUCKING BUSINESS,  _ BITCH!” _

Shiro shuts the door and traps his wide-eyed students inside. “Oookay, then,” he shouts over the roasting explosion happening outside and pretending absolutely nothing distracting was going on, “Let’s talk about atoms!”

He never gets to teach about atoms.

**Author's Note:**

> "s-tover" on tumblr.


End file.
